


Inktober 2019

by notjustmom



Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes (Downey films), Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Backstory, F/M, M/M, Missing Scenes, Rating will change, Some Canon, some not so canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2020-11-08 22:49:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 6,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20843312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: For this year's Inktober, I'll be using BluebellofBakerStreet's Prompt List which follows, to create backstories for the Ritchie Holmes characters...Day 1: DarkDay 2: UnstoppableDay 3: WaryDay 4: WearyDay 5: TransitoryDay 6: UrgentDay 7: WonderfulDay 8: CleanDay 9: DeliciousDay 10: DeterminedDay 11: DeadlyDay 12: TransparentDay 13: BoringDay 14: DivisiveDay 15: AmoralDay 16: ObnoxiousDay 17: UnnoticedDay 18: GratefulDay 19: FelineDay 20: JoyousDay 21: StoicDay 22: UnluckyDay 23: WistfulDay 24: IneffableDay 25: CarnivorousDay 26: PeacefulDay 27: FragileDay 28: TraditionalDay 29: AquaticDay 30: NervousDay 31: Ominous





	1. Day 1: Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scrub456](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrub456/gifts).

The first things he noticed about her were the intelligence and humour in her dark eyes. The third thing he observed, but not in time, was a swift right jab before he fell backwards on his arse, and then he heard the music in her laughter as she helped him to his feet, and he was certain he was in trouble, but more than that, he was positive _she_ was trouble.

Nevertheless, he retrieved his hat, then bowed in her direction and held out his hand. "Sherlock Holmes."

She smiled at him and after a moment, removed her own hat and let her hair down, then grabbed his hand and shook it heartily. "Irene Adler. I know exactly who you are, Sherlock Holmes. You and I will have great fun, I do believe."

And with a wink, she turned and disappeared into the crowd, and for the first, but certainly not the last time, he gave chase, though he knew better.


	2. Day 2: Unstoppable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a bit of Johnlock...

Watson loved him. 

Always had, ever since the first time their eyes met, and the dark eyes smiled directly into what he had to assume was what some people would consider his soul, and then he began to speak, and didn't stop until the next day.

Yes, he was imposs - no. The correct word was improbable, as he was very real, all too real, most days.

He loved him in a way he couldn't explain even to himself, and if Holmes ever asked him why, he wasn't sure he could tell him all the reasons if he had a hundred years, or a thousand. But if he were honest, and he considered himself an honest man, he loved him best when all the energy, and the seemingly unstoppable gears shut down, and he would simply fall asleep where he stood. He would carry him to bed, lie down next to him and just watch him until he sat up with a start, a sheepish grin would slowly warm the beautiful face, and he would kiss him lightly, then their foreheads would meet for a moment, and the world seemed to pause just for that moment. They would take a breath together, then both the world and Holmes began again at full speed once more.


	3. Day 3: Wary

He slowly opened one eye, then the other as he heard the tell-tale taps of her shoes and noted how her American consonants were now decidedly Continentalised, and yet as hard as she tried to dress it up, the girl from New Jersey still lingered. 

Married again. 

He sat up and scrubbed both hands through his hair as he gave her a wary glance, sweeping his gaze over her delicate hands. And divorced, yet again. He had lost track of - no, that was a lie. Number three. A Viscount of something or other this time. He didn't judge her, and if he had been a different man, perhaps once they could have - no. They both loved the thrill of the chase far too much, and there was a mutual respect and fondness that marriage would only inevitably corrupt. Besides, he was deeply, innately against anything that required paperwork and a ceremony.

"I have a case for you." 

"I am not that desperate, Irene."

"We both know you can't resist -"

He raised an eyebrow at her and she smirked, then sipped at her tea. She was the same, a bit older, possibly still a bit smarter - no, the difference between them was the same as it always had been in the past. She trusted no one, not even him, which gave her a distinct advantage over him. Even as he knew she loved him in her way - but there was something different in her eyes, a bit of the rabbit knowing it was being hunted. _She was afraid._


	4. Day 4: Weary

Holmes noted the brief weary look that flashed over Watson's dust covered features, and the gash that needed attention. The limp had been more in play this evening, though even on the worst days, he never acknowledged when he was in pain, it was something that went well beyond his military training, something even he couldn't deduce. He gently sat him down in his chair, then pushed a drink into his left hand and wrapped his right hand around it.

"Don't."

Holmes sighed, but didn't say a word, as he rang for Mrs. Hudson. She was about to make a comment until she saw the concern in his eyes, then promptly turned on her heel and disappeared down the stairs again, only to return a few moments later with a bowl of warm water and a clean cloth. "Sherlock -"

"Maybe some tea, Nanny?" 

She caught a look in his eyes that reminded her of the little boy he once had been. "A bit of soup, and there is fresh bread."

"Please?"

She nodded and laid her hand gently on his arm, then left them to themselves.

Holmes lifted Watson's chin and began to wipe the grime and soot that their latest case had left behind. 

"Sorry," Watson hissed out as Holmes cleaned the gash that would need a stitch or two at the very least.

"What for?" Holmes muttered as he dropped the cloth into the water, then froze as Watson reached for his hand and held on.

"If you were on your own, you would have caught him."

"Watson." They'd had different versions of this conversation more times than either of them could count since he'd been home, and Holmes knew there was nothing he could say that would make a difference to the man who shivered near the roaring fire, so he said nothing, save for, "this will hurt a bit, but it should leave a rather attractive scar."

Watson couldn't help but give him an exhausted grin, then pressed his lips lightly to the inside of Holmes' wrist before he let it go.

"No worries, old man, we'll get him tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," he sighed and closed his eyes as Holmes began to stitch him up.


	5. Day 5: Transitory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes considers Irene as Watson decides on an engagement ring...

He believed love to be transitory, no more than a chemical reaction to visual stimuli, and yet, there had to be more to it than that, as he found himself unable or unwilling to ignore those rare times when she summoned him, or turn her away when she appeared at his door.

"What is it about her, Holmes?" Watson had asked more than once, and he was never able to give him an answer, as he had tried never to closely examine the why of her. She was infuriating, stubborn, calculating, and yet, she was intelligent, and crafty and she had saved him from himself too many times to explain, even to Watson. He knew she was incapable of being anything but what she was, she had always been her own person, in spite of what society informed her what she ought to be, as she searched for that singular person who could be what she needed, and from time to time, he had been that person. 

In his younger days, he had considered what a life would be like with her, even once going so far to propose. To this day he still wondered at that particular moment of madness, at the brief flash of surprise in her brown eyes, and for a moment he was horrified that she might actually accept, before she laughed delightedly, then kissed him sweetly and told him not to be ridiculous and to dress for dinner. The subject was never brought up again in all the years since, though every once in a while, he would catch her studying him in a way that made him wonder. He blinked and found himself in a jeweler's shop, standing by Watson as the proprietor presented his companion with a selection of rings.

After an hour Holmes huffed out impatiently. "It is a mere bauble, Watson."

"It is a symbol, Holmes. Proof of my intentions."

_"Intentions."_

Watson grumbled out, "just because you've never dared -" He stopped short as Holmes made a noise. "You have. _You_ of all people." He rolled his eyes and sighed. "The Adler woman."

"Years ago in a moment of madness. Fortunately she took it as a joke which it was, of course it was. It was more of an experiment, to see what it felt like, I don't know. But I learned from that moment, how ridiculous a notion it is that one can find happiness with just one person. Perhaps it will be different for you and hmmm..."

"Mary."

"Quite. _Mary._"

"Holmes."

"I do have a case that needs seeing to. Good day, Watson."

"Holmes. Wait -"


	6. Day 6: Urgent

_"Come at once, if convenient..."_ the urgent missive began. Watson sighed and pulled a few coins from his pocket, placing them in the outstretched hand of the lad who stood in front of him, then grabbed his revolver and followed him out of Baker Street and into the rainy night.

"You're a right idiot, why didn't you wait for me?" He grumbled twenty minutes later as he all but carried Holmes up the seventeen steps to their flat and settled him into the couch, which was remarkably clear of rubbish for once. He knelt next to him and shook his head, "nothing life-threatening, but you'll need a few stitches and do try to stay awake, Holmes." He disappeared down the stairs once more, returning a few moments later with a bowl of water and a few clean cloths, and without a word, removed the tattered remnants of Holmes' shirt and commenced to cleaning the gash along his ribs. 

"Thank you, Watson."

"Holmes." He ran his fingers through the dark unruly curls and heard Holmes' breath hitch as his eyes opened wider.

"Watson -"

"Just breathe, Holmes. Just breathe, for me."

"For you, always, Watson."


	7. Day 7: Wonderful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> first kiss... (more sighing, AlwaysJohn <3)

When he dreamed, he had dreamed of this, the moment he returned and finally had a chance to look into Watson's eyes before he begged him for forgiveness. He wasn't exactly sure how the scenario would play out, if Watson would be angry, angry enough to lash out at him, or - 

He closed his eyes and couldn't help but sigh as Watson carefully cradled his head in both hands. He knew he was checking for damage, but he could feel how Watson's fingers trembled, how his breathing stuttered, and then warm lips pressed against his forehead, then one cheek, and the other, and finally, _finally_ Watson's lips found his, and he finally remembered how to breathe again.

"Sherlock."

"John."


	8. Day 8: Clean

He helped her to her feet, then pulled a nearly clean handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the streak of dirt from her face. "I'm finished chasing after you, Irene."

She looked into his eyes, then kissed his cheek, and offered him a smile. "You will miss me."

"Sadly, yes," he whispered, and brushed his lips on her forehead, then turned on his heel and walked away without a backward glance.


	9. Day 9: Delicious

"Well...isn't this just _delicious_...?" Holmes hummed as he stalked around the corpse.

"_Holmes._"

"Apologies, Watson. It's just been a long time."

Watson sighed as he slowly eased down next to the victim of - "Scent of almonds -"

"Cyanide..." they whispered together.

"Murder," Watson sighed louder as he watched Holmes smile for the first time in weeks.


	10. Day 10: Determined

"Irene -"

She spun on her heel and faced him, and he groaned inwardly as he noted the impishly determined lift of her left eyebrow. He knew it didn't matter what he said, or did, she was going to do what she wanted, when she wanted; there was no going back.

"I'll be fine, Sherlock. I always find a way. Try not to worry too much."

Holmes gave her a nod, and watched as she disappeared into the fog, then, after a moment, followed after her.


	11. Day 11: Deadly

"Don't try to move."

"Watson, don't be ridiculous, I'm fine." Holmes bit his lip and tried not to groan as he tried to sit up.

"I warned you, Holmes." 

Holmes gave him a look and was met with a glare that was nearly deadly in its intensity, and yet, there was a softness to Watson's normally neutral features that told him how close it had been this time.

"I'm sorry, Watson." He reached out and sighed as Watson took his hand and held it gently in both of his.

"Promise me, no, never mind, just close your eyes and rest?"

"I will. I am sorry, my friend. Truly -" his words drifted to nothing as he closed his eyes and he finally slept.


	12. Day 12: Transparent

"Does he know?" Irene asked quietly from the doorway.

"What do you want, Irene?"

"The good doctor. _Does he know?_"

"I am working, woman." He growled at her as he pushed another pin into the wall.

"You haven't told him. And he hasn't guessed? A bigger moron than I originally thought. You know one day he will marry, one day, he will marry a slip of a girl, and leave you to your work, which you know isn't enough, not nearly enough without him -"

"_Enough._" He turned away from the wall, and glared at her. "Is it that obvious?"

"Sherlock, dear boy, you are as transparent as glass."

"What does it matter, 'Rene? Long ago, I knew that I was not meant for the domestic niceties - hearth and home, etc, etcetera..."

"Methinks you do protest a bit overmuch."

"Did you come here for a purpose? Or -"

"I thought you might join me for dinner tonight, if you weren't otherwise engaged?"

"You could have easily sent a message."

"Yes, but it's not nearly as much fun as extending the invitation in person. Shall we say, I don't know, eight o'clock at the Savoy?"

"Fine."

"Good." She flashed a brilliant smile at him, the smile which meant no good for someone, and with a rustle of skirts, she was gone.


	13. Day 13: Boring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of retirementlock...

Watson had been concerned that Holmes might find retirement boring, but he shouldn't have worried. Now that he no longer had casework to occupy his inquisitive mind, he had time for his bees and tinkering with only God knew what. At the end of the day, he was hungry and exhausted, and most nights, happily tucked himself against his chest and draped an arm over his hip as he tumbled easily into a deep sleep.

If only the nightmares would leave them be. Now that they were away from the noise and chaos of London, they had become rare, but there were nights when remnants of Reichenbach or other dark memories would resurface, and catch them off guard.

"Holmes. _Sherlock._" He would hold him tightly in his arms as he was trying to fight off an invisible foe, or weeping over something or someone he had lost, then kiss his face lightly, until he came back to himself.

"John." Holmes would place a tremulous hand on his face and study him quietly, as if making sure he was truly there and not a figment of his remarkable imagination. "You are here."

"Yes, Holmes, I am here."

"Good. That's good," he would sigh and lay his fingers over his wrist, and once completely convinced of his existence, drift back to sleep.


	14. Day 14: Divisive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I love the scene in A Game of Shadows when Holmes makes his farewell to Irene, and Watson acknowledges his loss, here is a bit more...

Watson had to admit that though he knew Irene had at times been a divisive figure, at the very least disruptive, and at her worst destructive to Holmes' well being, he did understand what her death meant to his companion, even as he never mentioned her again. 

He knew, though Holmes claimed that sentiment was something to be avoided, as the anniversary of her death neared, he would grow quiet, smoke his pipe a bit more, eat a little less and spend a few more hours with the bees than he was wont to do, and if Watson gave him an inquiring look, or let his hand linger a bit longer than usual on his shoulder, he would acknowledge it with the same sad smile as he had that day when they crossed the channel, and life would go on. 

As it tends to do.


	15. Day 15: Amoral

It wasn't that Irene was amoral, not by any stretch of the imagination, he considered, when he considered the question at all. It was simply she had her own set of boundaries about the line between wrong and right. She would cheerfully defraud anyone without a second thought, but if she witnessed someone hurting a child, he had seen her on more than one occasion, place her tiny but fierce form between the child and the abuser, stick her knife in the man's ribs until he relented and gave up his wallet to her, then went on his way, without a grumble for fear of retribution.

"It's the principle of the thing, Sherlock."

"Uhmmhmm," he muttered as she placed one delicate hand on his arm and deftly pickpocketed a passerby with the other.


	16. Day 16: Obnoxious

Most people found Holmes a bit on the obnoxious side; he was certainly arrogant, and his intolerance for fools was well known, and he did have numerous other, well, foibles, Watson had to admit. On the other hand, Watson mused, as he found himself studying his friend in the seat across from him, he could be generous to a fault, rarely charging his clients a fee, the work was payment in itself. He had a brilliant sense of the absurd, and he was never boring; whether that was a fault or a virtue, he wasn't quite sure. There were times when he wondered what exactly Holmes saw in him -

Holmes folded the letter he had been perusing and replaced it in his pocket, then leaned towards him and laid a steady hand on his knee. "You are steadfast, patient when I lose my way at times, and though most consider me difficult, you remain my companion, and true friend. You are a rarity in the world, Watson." He removed his hand, then leaned back against the seat of the carriage, closed his eyes and slept for the duration of their journey back to Baker Street.


	17. Day 17: Unnoticed

There was little that went unnoticed. It was what made Holmes, Holmes, and some might consider his abilities as a gift. But there were moments when he wished he could just stop. Stop seeing each detail and nuance, every lie and half truth, and simply take things on blind faith as others could.

"Holmes, tell me you are alright?" 

He blinked up into Watson's eyes and nodded, as he finally noticed what he should have seen from the beginning. "'Tis but a scratch, Watson. A mere scratch." He closed his eyes again, and sighed as he felt Watson press a kiss to his forehead before he lifted him into his arms and carried him back to Baker Street.


	18. Day 18: Grateful

Watson always thought it ironic that he had become famous for his words, as he had never been good at expressing himself before he had met Holmes. Of course, it had taken him far too long, he had nearly been too late - and of course there were reasons, he had legitimate reasons not to tell him, not only because of how society would view him if he acted on those feelings, but until that moment when Holmes opened his eyes and whispered his given name, he was unsure if his love was returned.

"Sherlock?" There were words, phrases that should follow, declarations, poetry, something, anything to fill the awkward silence that settled over them, to make up for the time that had been lost. He reached out to brush a damp curl from Holmes' forehead, and swore under his breath as his hand trembled for the first time in years.

"I am grateful, John," Holmes said, as he grabbed onto his arm, and held on tightly as he struggled to sit up. "How long?"

Watson blinked at him, unsure of how to answer his question. "You were taken ill three days ago, there were moments when I wasn't sure I'd ever hear your voice again -"

"No." Holmes shook his head, and a crooked smile danced across his lips before he coughed miserably, then mumbled, "how long, John, has it been since -"

"_Oh._" He felt his face heat up, and tried to turn away, but he found himself staring into the dark eyes that always saw far too much, and he nodded, unable to deny his feelings any longer. "I've loved you from the first moment, Sherlock - I -"

Holmes reached up and laid a finger over his lips. "I know, John, I've always - no - that isn't quite true, I'd always hoped - but I was afraid." Watson pressed a kiss to his finger, and felt something in him shatter as Holmes' eyes fluttered closed, and he murmured, "I'm not afraid anymore, John."


	19. Day 19: Feline

Watson had always considered Holmes to be more feline than human at times. 

Some of it had to do with his ability to cheat or at least outsmart death on more than one occasion, and his ability to always land on his feet was uncanny, but at the moment, he had to laugh to himself as his friend and lover curled up in his lap and all but purred as Watson's fingers began to untangle the wild mass of curls.

"Hmmm?"

"Nothing..." Watson mumbled, as he felt Holmes drift off to sleep under his hand. Though as he closed his eyes, he had a vague thought as to whether or not Holmes would object to wearing a bell somewhere on his person...


	20. Day 20: Joyous

He watched as a joyous grin spread slowly over Watson's face, and knew he had never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He wished there was a way to bottle up the moment, keep it tucked away for those days when his world became too dark and he could barely breathe, let alone function.

His breath caught as Watson's fingers wrapped lightly around his wrists holding him securely to this place in time, as if he understood the sentiment all too well.


	21. Day 21: Stoic

For all of his rants against all things sentimental, Holmes was the least stoic person Watson had ever met. Except when it came to his feelings about Irene. He was never quite certain about their past, and though he had asked him after each of their encounters with her mostly for curiosity's sake, Holmes would gently rebuff him, and change the subject. 

Only once did he make his feelings known, and it was years after her death, years after they had retired quietly to their cottage.

"I miss her, Watson, I'm not sure if you can understand. She knew me at my best and my worst, and loved me, in her own way, as much as she could love anyone. I will always be grateful to her, as she taught me I was worth loving, and was capable of returning that love. She knew from the moment she met you, saw us together, women's intuition, I guess. We were kindred spirits, of a sort, she was like no other woman, unique." He blinked into the fire, then lapsed into a silence that lasted for hours until he finally got to his feet, walked over to Watson's chair, and reached out his hand, afraid he had finally spoken too much. He breathed out a sigh of relief as Watson took the offered hand and followed him to their shared room and closed the door, keeping the ghosts of their past at bay for the time being.


	22. Day 22: Unlucky

He was a gambler by nature, and had seen his share of unlucky streaks in his life, but never one this lengthy before. Of course, some would say that he was lucky to have survived first being shot, then the infection that nearly finished him off in hospital, but as he followed Stamford into the dimly lit morgue, he wondered, not for the first time, if he would have been better off -

"Afghanistan."

"Sorry?" 

"You have recently returned from Afghanistan." The public school voice didn't quite match up with the rumpled figure who emerged from the shadows and offered him his hand. "Sherlock Holmes." 

"John Watson."

"A soldier _and_ a doctor."

He blinked at him, and was about to ask how he knew when a shy grin brightened his sharp features, and he murmured, "Simplicity itself. This morning, Stamford mentioned he had an old friend who was looking for cheap accommodations, and not three hours later, here you are, a veteran of the Afghan campaign..."

Watson studied Holmes' hand for a moment, then looked into the dark eyes and cleared his throat. "Scientist, pipe smoker, former - no - occasional drug user, opiates, I gather?"

Holmes pulled his hand away gently and glanced over at Stamford, who shrugged, then turned on his heel, leaving them on their own. "Very good, Doctor. I do dabble at times, when I am bored. I also play the violin at all hours, and there may be days when I don't speak, would that be a problem for you?"

As Watson laughed for the first time in months, he could tell from the twinkle in Holmes' eyes that his luck had finally changed for the better.


	23. Day 23: Wistful

There were times in the past that he can allow himself to recall only now, a brief flash of something almost wistful in his eyes, but the next moment he would turn away, or dash off onto the next case, and he could only wonder if he had imagined the light he saw there. 

Now, as he gazes into those same eyes, finally certain of his love, of their love, he knows that love was always there, from the beginning, and he tries not to think of all the time they've lost. He seems to understand those moments of regret, those minutes and hours they don't speak of, as he invites him into his arms and breathes wordless vows into his hair that will never be spoken aloud, or broken, as he tumbles into a dreamless rest at last.


	24. Day 24: Ineffable

"Dr John Watson, this is Irene -?" Holmes raised a curious eyebrow in their newest client's direction, but Watson knew him well enough to know that there was history between his friend and the expensively dressed and coiffed woman who boldly kissed his cheek before she drew off her peacock blue gloves and stuck out her hand in way of introduction. He took the offered hand and was only slightly surprised by the strength in her grip. _American... interesting._

She rolled her eyes and sighed as she settled into the chair Sherlock pulled out for her. "Adler, once more, I'm afraid. You were right about him, as you always are, Sherlock. Yes, Doctor, I am American. Frightful, I know, I do apologize. But I am in need of some help..."

As she went on with her story that she was making up as she went along, she studied her old friend, and something in her broke, as she knew he no longer needed her as he once did. She knew she had hurt him badly the last time she had disappeared but she still felt a pang of jealousy when she realized she had been replaced by the tall, fair haired, blue-eyed former soldier. In his way, he was nearly as intelligent as Holmes, but not nearly as arrogant, battle-tested not only by war, but by Sherlock himself, and he not been found wanting. 

What they were to each other, it was unclear to her at the moment; more than friends, they were partners, but there was something ineffable in the way Watson tried not to let his eyes linger too long on Holmes' hands and face. _Ah. Poor man... poor, poor man..._ then she caught how Holmes' cheeks flushed just ever so slightly under Watson's gaze, and she knew the love Watson had for him was returned in full, but they would never act on it, as the risk to their friendship was far too great. 

Poor, poor boys.


	25. Day 25: Carnivorous

It was Holmes' own fault, really, that he had ended up on bed rest and little more than Mrs Hudson's broth for the last three days. Not that he was in the habit of eating regularly while on a case, but Watson could tell by the nearly feral carnivorous glare in his friend's eyes that he would probably give anything for a bite of the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding that they could both smell in the flat below them. Mrs Hudson had insisted on making a celebratory post case meal after she made her displeasure with her tenants quite clear.

To make matters infinitely worse, Holmes had completely lost his voice due to yelling for help after his latest case had gone awry, leaving him in the Thames in January for ten minutes, before Watson and Wiggins could find and rescue him once again. Luckily it had been a most unseasonable winter, warmer than usual. Otherwise. Watson took up the leather bound journal that Holmes had taken to abusing while his voice recovered, and scribbled out a brief note.

_I am sorry. Truly. I should have known you weren't up to snuff before the case, I shouldn't have left you on your own._ He paused for a moment, put the pen aside and reached out to lay a hand over Holmes' forehead to see if his fever had finally broken. He sighed in relief and offered his friend a weary smile, then took up the pen again and continued writing. _Fever has broken. You do know, you must know, Holmes, what it does to me every time you risk life and limb for the work. I am not sure what I would do if anything permanent should take you away from me. You know I have difficulty expressing my feelings, especially when it comes to you, my dear friend -_

Holmes reached out his hand, and briefly laid it on Watson's knee then managed to rasp out roughly, "sorry, Watson. Ask Nanny to save a bit of roast for me?" 

Watson nodded, then took up his hand and pressed it lightly to his lips, and heard a relieved sigh escape from his friend as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep just as Mrs Hudson knocked on their door.


	26. Day 26: Peaceful

He knew Baker Street was an odd sort of refuge after the noise and chaos of the battlefield, but from the beginning, Holmes understood better than most that quiet did not necessarily guarantee peace. Stillness brought him only introspection and stiff joints, while solitude offered only the ghosts of those he couldn't save. 

And yet, there were those peaceful nights, once the high of the adrenaline rush from a case had faded and they were too exhausted to sleep, pipes were smoked, in silence at first, and then the memories he had believed were buried deeply enough came to the surface, became stories for an audience of one.


	27. Day 27: Fragile

Watson had always believed Holmes to be indestructible, an immortal being in his way, until the moment when he slipped away from the world without a sound, in Simza's arms. Now, as Holmes grumbled at him under his breath, he rested his hand over his injured ankle, and finally had to acknowledge how very fragile, how human his friend was after all. 

"I am sorry you didn't get to Brighton."

He glanced up and studied Holmes' exhausted face, and saw everything, everything he wished he could say, but could not, even after returning from the dead, there were words he would never be able to speak. He nodded and offered him a weary smile, hoping he understood. "Me too."


	28. Day 28: Traditional

He filled and lit his pipe, then lowered himself into the depths of his chair and closed his eyes to the dreary London weather that had gone on for days now, with no ending in sight, and as he did every so often, turned his mind away from his latest case and considered what his life might have been if he had followed a more traditional path. A career in law perhaps, as his mother had wished? A courtship, marriage, even children? After an hour, he snorted and shook his head, then laid his pipe aside as he found Mrs Hudson laying out tea for him.

She straightened up and gazed at him, not in pity, it was never pity that he felt from her. He knew she was fond of him in her way, though he assumed it was more loyalty to the family, than out of a love for himself, and he knew she had no other people, as her sister had died years ago now. And yet, there were times like now, when he recognised that no one knew, or understood him quite as well as she did. Even better than Watson, as she had always been there. He simply could not recall a time in his life when she wasn't _there._

She shook her head at him as she pressed a cup of tea into his trembling hand, then picked up her own cup and settled into the chair next to him. "Simply frightful weather. You never liked storms, there were nights I'd find you shivering under your bed, afraid to sleep or move, and I'd tell you stories until you would crawl out and climb into my lap. You probably don't remember -"

"Of course I do, Nanny," he sighed as he sipped at the tea, sweetened in the way she had always done for him on the bad days. She just always had a way of knowing, and at times he wondered if some of his skills weren't a result of her influence more than anything else.

"You know, dear, not everyone is cut out for a regular life. I always knew, you and your brother both, were meant for a higher purpose. I know there are times when the loneliness is unbearable, and that is when trouble finds you, or you go out in search of it. But, I know you have a case that needs your attention, and I have a nice supper planned for you, all of your favorites, and your doctor will be round soon for a chat, he needs your friendship even more than you need his at times. He worries overmuch what society thinks of him. You give him a bit of the danger he misses, remind him of the other side of life, the side he dreams of for good or ill, and yes, in spite of your shenanigans-"

"Nanny," he interrupted her gently before she spoke too much, then replaced his tea cup carefully into its saucer and met the worried glance in her eyes.

"Yes, dear?"

"Could you tell me a story?" He asked her gently, and couldn't help but return the soft smile she offered him.

"Of course, dear." 

He tried to focus on the voice that had seen him through many of his darkest times, but as always, his eyes fluttered closed and soon he was fast asleep. When he woke, he rubbed his eyes and found Watson sitting in the chair opposite him, and the weather had finally broken at long last. "Watson."

"Holmes."

"Apologies. What brings you here?"

"The weather has finally cleared, and I knew -"

"Mrs Hudson."

"Yes, she did send along an invitation for a late supper, but I thought you might like to take a stroll in the park, I know you've been cooped up here for days, and could use an airing out."

Holmes scrubbed his hands through his hair, then stifled a yawn, and slowly got to his feet. "Yes, Watson, I could do with a bit of fresh air." He glanced over at Gladstone who blinked at him for a moment then grumbled in protestation, but eventually followed them down the steps and onto Baker Street. "Thank you, my dear fellow."

"For what, Holmes?" Watson looked over at him in mild surprise.

"For your presence, Watson. Your presence is always welcome." They began walking with no plan in mind, and soon their strides fit together as always, and they shared news and swapped old tales as the lamps were slowly glowing to life to light their way.


	29. Day 29: Aquatic

Watson's eyes slowly focused on the only source of light in the room, the low lamp next to - Holmes' bed. He started, then let out a groan and lay still again. "Holmes?"

"There you are, Watson." His voice was hoarse, as if he hadn't used it in days, or had used it far too roughly.

"Tell me -"

"You nearly met with a rather aquatic end."

Watson sniffed at the air and groaned again. "The Thames."

"Hmm."

"How long ago?"

"You've been in and out of consciousness for four days."

Watson gave him a cursory glance and noted the bruises on his friend's face, the well wrapped ankle that was settled on a pillow on a chair, and the open book that rested in his lap. "You haven't left my side."

"Only when necessary."

"Tell me you've slept?"

Holmes rolled his eyes. "Only when necessary. And yes, Mrs Hudson has made me eat, you know how she gets when - she's been baking non-stop, and her feelings do get rather raw if her scones go to waste."

Watson tried to laugh, but thought better of it. "Holmes."

Holmes closed the book and laid it aside, then took Watson's hand in both of his and whispered, "rest, Watson. I'll be here when you wake."

"You must be bored just -" his voice faded as he saw the light flicker in Holmes' eyes, and he searched his friend's face for a long moment before his eyes fluttered shut again.

"There is no other place I would rather be, Watson. No other place, my friend."

Before he drifted off to sleep, Watson realised he'd never felt safer than he did at that moment, and he hoped Holmes knew somehow.


	30. Day 30: Nervous

"You're nervous."

Holmes heard the smile in Watson's voice and couldn't tell him otherwise; in fact, for once, he found he was quite incapable of speech as Watson's fingers traced over the scars that no one had ever seen, let alone touched. 

"Holmes?" 

It was all he could do to breathe, let alone compose a coherent thought as his mind palace crumbled, when the fingers stopped exploring and he let out a disappointed and most undignified whimper.

"Are you in pain?" The doctor in his friend asked, the concern plain in his voice.

"No," he finally managed in a broken whisper and groaned as Watson began to moved away from him. "No light. Please. I'm fine. No. That's a lie. I just - you don't know how long, how very long I've wanted this, you - and I'm afraid, Watson -"

Watson's arms wrapped gently around him and his breathing gradually calmed, as soft words were whispered at his ear. "I do. Understand, I mean. I know, Sherlock, I know."

"Don't let me go, John." 

Watson answered by pressing his lips along his collarbone, and words were no longer necessary.


	31. Day 31: Ominous

He groaned at the first ominous rumble of a coming storm, as an uncontrollable shiver ran through him, and he was reminded of all the the times he had failed. Yes, he had succeeded more often than not, but when it mattered most, he had failed. Failed to save so many on the battlefield, then once home, failed to prevent the death of his friend, the wisest and bravest man he had ever known. He took a shattered breath as he felt tears spring to his eyes as strong arms and legs wrapped around him holding him tightly to the present moment.

"Sorry, I'm so sorry, Holmes."

Holmes brushed a kiss over his shoulder, then whispered, "you never failed me once, Watson, not ever. I had no choice, I couldn't let him live to hurt you. You must know, John, you have saved me time and time again, especially on those occasions when I didn't deserve anyone's friendship, let alone yours." 

Watson sighed and closed his eyes as Holmes' fingers danced lightly over his skin, and he wondered not for the first time, at the love and devotion he was given even in a world that would condemn it. 

"Rest, John. This storm, too, will soon pass."

"Stay."

"Always."


End file.
